White noise

We chat about clarity. The Marwari's have it. In spades. Ruthlessness requires it. That's why warm and fuzzy go together and not warm and ruthless or ruthless and fuzzy. I look at her, and I have a clarity of thought that I didn't a year ago. Why didn't I? Why is it, that things that seem so patently obvious now, never seem that way in the beginning? Older? wiser? Or is it like trying to predict the mood of the ocean. But you can, can't you? If you live it, breathe it, smell it, learn it? Or is it that what's hidden bleeds through like cheap dye after one too many rinses? Or is it our need for survival that suggests a heightened sensitivity is better served by the white noise that we let envelop us? Do any of us really see what is, without letting our experiences colour our views, our perceptions, our beliefs? That's why we'll always need children and animals to make sense of our lives. Their unmarred innocence, honesty and trust. It makes you smile when you inhale it as tiny fingers maul your face, and wonder when it was lost in the ten year old hugging you. Only the fittest will survive. White noise. It's hard being top of the food chain.